This House is Not a Home
by Kitara Lira
Summary: Somethings are better left unsaid. Part I of a Strings series.


**Home**

**By K.L.**

_A/N: I've had a dry spell these last few months, so my words are rusted and my thoughts scattered. I apologize in advance for this story as it may not be adequate to many. I hope that you'll grin and bear it as I try to get back in the swing of things._

Song: Home by Three Days Grace

* * *

It started like every other rehearsal. Rachel stood facing her fellow Glee club members, lips moving a thousand miles an hour; today's lecture no different than the previous.

"…We need to practice with the same zealous as was exhibited in our Regional performance. The lack of initiative and…"

No one was ever good enough – at least to one Rachel Berry – and every so often she would remind everyone of just that, _'I am your star and you are my disciples.'_ Was it any wonder why all the club members hit the Berry Mute the moment the upcoming Broadway star stepped toward the front of the room? Even Mr. Schuester had given up on listening to the tiny boom box.

So was it really any surprise when Rachel finally snapped? With the way things had been heading for the past month it was any wonder it hadn't happened sooner. This was high school after all and what was high school without a little drama; Glee style.

* * *

"Santana please, you have it all wrong. I realise you're trying to help – though why now when all you've ever done is ignore every word I say I cannot fathom – but you should respect the fact that I have knowledge on these circumstances that you lack. Which is understandable considering our instructor thinks printing off online music advice then preaching the atrocity to our fellow glee club members is acceptable," Rachel turned to face the man in question ushering in a short apology before returning her focus to the Latina before her, "You're uneducated and th-"

"Uneducated? Uneducated?" Both Quinn and Puck leapt from their chairs in an attempt to restrain the Hellion about to be released. Unfortunately the Latina was quicker.

As if only now realising the terror she had unleashed Rachel Berry cringed in fear, shrinking back from the approaching woman, "No… that's not what I mea-"

Now with her face mere inches from Rachel's, Santana let out a low growl, poking her index finger hard into the other's sternum, "But you said it Berry which means you meant it. You think I'm some fucking uneducated mess who lives in a house with twelve siblings and parents who can't read so they have to get a job picking up your white ass shit. Got that typical Latino family stuck in your head you racist bi-"

A simultaneous chorus of words rang out.

"S!"

"Enough Santana!"

"That's not true! I didn't-"

But Santana, being Santana, refused to cease. Around she spun, stalking toward Artie only to rip his electric guitar from his hands, "Puck! Finn!" Both boys scrambled to their feet, offering the seething woman a salute.

"Yes ma'am!"

"Drums. Back up. Now." The boys did just as Santana instructed, though unsure as to exactly what they were doing.

During all the commotion Rachel had stood utterly still, fearing that movement of any sort would be seen as a threat by the already fuming Latina causing her early and rather unwanted demise. So when Santana pointed to a seat and commanded she sit, Rachel did exactly that.

"I'm going to show you just whose uneducated here Berry." Back turned to the club, Santana made eye contact with Finn and Puck, "Keep up or get out. Crank it Artie!"

For several moments the only sound to break the silence was the crackling of the amp as Artie did just what he was told. Crank it up.

"I'll be coming home just to be alone," Back arched, Santana strummed heavily upon the strings, her right foot stamping the floor in rhythm to the beat.

That's all it took for both Puck and Finn to clue in, taking up their own instruments and joining they fray.

"Cause I know you're not there and I know that you don't care," Throwing her head back Santana screamed upward, showering the roof with her aggressive words, "I can't hardly wait to leave this place!"

In the background two male voices echoed her, sending a chilling wave through the room.

Fingers ran up and down the neck of the guitar, the notes pouring out in fury, "No matter how hard I try, you're never satisfied!" At this Rachel recoiled, sinking back further into her chair, "This is not a home, I think I'm better off alone."

Internally Santana smirked for the petite brunette's actions did not go unnoticed, "You always disappear, even when you're here. This is not my home, I think I'm better off alone." While she sang, the Latina stepped toward the brunette, bellowing at the top of her lungs, "Home! Home! This house is not a home! Home! This house is not a home!

The trio broke away from the normal patterns of the song, allowing the lead to pull out a guitar solo filled with all the current emotion she felt. Fingers slid from fret to fret, never stopping for more than an instant in any particular location. Finn pounded callously on the drum skins, beads of sweat pooling. Puck plucked out a basic rhythm on his acoustic why attempting his best 'bad ass' pose.

As the solo neared its end, Santana jumped high into the air. When gravity took its toll, the Latina brought her fingers down violently on the strings accompanying it with an ear-piercing strength in her voice, "I can hardly wait till you get off my case. No matter how hard I try, you're never satisfied!"

Nearing the end, Santana stepped back, taking in the whole of the club before focusing her gaze on one Rachel Berry. Her vicious assaults upon Artie's guitar fell to a gentle murmur cueing Finn and Puck to do the same. When her lips parted and the final words left they no longer contained the original vehemence, "This house is not a home. Home. This house is not a home." And with that the trio fell silent.

If anyone was surprise that Mr. Schuester hadn't so much as scold Santana for the inappropriate choice of song, they didn't voice it.

After several moments of utter silence passed, Santana was the first to make a move. Dropping the guitar back into its original place – Artie's lap – the Latina turned to grab the hand of the blonde in the back row, "Let's go B we don't need this crap," And with her other hand she reached for their belongings.

"But S." The blonde threw her a confused look, stumbling along as her best friend literally dragged her toward the exit.

Seeing as the brunette refused to listen to her, Brittany did the next best thing she could think of. Over her shoulder she shot a small smile, waving with her free hand, "Sorry guys, we got to go. Bye!" And with that the two were gone leaving behind the many stunned faces.

* * *

What had started out as a normal day ended with quite the twist.

Today the _Voice_ had finally cracked.

Today the _Song_ had finally answered.


End file.
